


Bleeding Out

by Willowanderer



Series: Bleeding Out [1]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ezio Auditore is a slut, Gen, Kissing, M/M, Mental Instability, Multi, Slash, Violence, but we don't mind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-09
Updated: 2013-03-07
Packaged: 2017-11-28 16:15:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/676356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Willowanderer/pseuds/Willowanderer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Bleeding Effect was bad enough- but now Desmond is seeing his ancestors- and they're talking to him. But is he crazy or are they actually there?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which Someone Else Sees it

As long as the Bleeding effect didn’t completely consume his surroundings Desmond figured he was safe. Crazy, but safe, time limits be damned. It was just a hallucination after all, like a particularity vicious case of deja vu- and man, did he get a lot of that. Between deja vu and the Bleeding effect, he'd almost rather stay in the animus. Things were a little more stable and linear in there, and that was _terrifying._

 

Knowing they were hallucinations and couldn't hurt him was one thing but seeing a horse bearing down on him at full tilt wasn't something he could ignore. He braced for impact without thinking and a hand yanked him back against a wall. It wasn’t real, but he swore he felt the wind from the galloping horse's passage and smelled sweat and leather.

Then he realized- someone had pulled him out of the way.

Someone had touched him

_Someone else had seen the horse._

Desmond whirled to see who. A far too familiar white hood was there. Altaïr's eyes met his clearly.

“Be more careful.” it was a full and direct sentence- not something that he got a great deal from the Bleeding. In fact, never. He'd hear noises and distant conversations sometimes, but nothing like this. He wasn't just hearing it, he was being talked to. “Just because someone tells you something can't hurt you doesn't make it true. Idiot.” the last word was added as an afterthought. Desmond reached out to touch the curve of the linen hood, and his vision cleared, leaving nothing but the stark walls of the hideout. He pulled his hand back and rubbed his eyes.

 

It was a hallucination, but it had been nice for someone to talk _to_ him. Even when Shaun insulted him, it was as if it was aimed over his head. One of them, but not quite one of them yet, no matter what he did. Lucy, Shaun, Becca, they were his entire world outside the animus, and they tended to talk past him, not to him. As if they were too afraid to get close.

 

As if they knew they weren't going to get to keep him.

It was infuriating, but it didn't really hurt, because because they did care. But it was lonely.

A tragedy, not just a tool. It was almost worse.

“Des?” Becca's voice called down the hall.

“Coming.” he turned and trotted back, putting the incident from his mind as just one more Bleeding incident. As Shaun might say 'Bloody Bleeding'

 

Two days later, he was watching an argument between two men, filling in dialogue himself as they moved in their jerky, flickering way. In someways, but for the lack of real sound, the bleeding effect was better than TV.

“'no, _your_ mother is a whore'” Desmond mumbled to himself. “'That's not what your sister said last night...'”

“No one taught you to read lips, did they? He took his _lunch.”_

Desmond turned, very slowly, to see that Ezio was leaning against the wall beside him.

“I have to say, though, your version is _much_ more entertaining.”

The fight, which escalated to shoving was forgotten in favor to the hallucination that was _talking_ to him. Not that Ezio looked like a standard echo from the Bleeding effect he was much more... saturated, and solid looking. He smirked and raised an eyebrow. “You should learn to read lips. It's very useful.” He gave a little shrug, making the folded hood around his shoulder shift. _“Dull,_ but useful.”

“What... how...”

Ezio put his hands on Desmond's shoulders, and he flicked his eyes down, seeing how the fabric was displaced, feeling the warmth of hands, and then the stubbly brush of lips against first one cheek than the other. “So glad to meet you face to face, my friend.”

Desmond could smell him, not just feel him, leather, and linen and sweat. How could he smell a hallucination.

“I'm going crazy...”

“ _Si._ We're all a little mad.” Ezio grinned. There was a clatter and a swear from up the hallway, and it wrested Desmond's eyes away to see what had happened. Lucy was there, picking up a crate of something, when he looked back the hallucination was gone, but he could still see the smile in his mind's eye.

“Desmond?” Lucy looked at him. “What are you doing?”

“Uh... just.. uh.. taking a moment. Getting my thoughts in order.”

“You look like you've seen a ghost.”

“No.. nothing like that.” Desmond tried to smile, and gave a weak laugh.

“You'd tell me if something was wrong, right?” she asked, concern furrowing her brow, and she abandoned the dropped crate to walk towards him.

“Of course I would.” he lied easily. It was a lie he told a lot. “Just.. a momentary Bleed, that's all.”

“Still not lasting very long?”

“Distracting flashes only.” he promised. “I'm trying to learn to ignore them.”

“Idiot.” hissed a rough voice in his ear and he flinched. Altaïr's voice again.

“That's good.” She either didn't notice the flinch or ignored it. Desmond wondered if she knew how much he was keeping from her.

“Here, let me give you a hand with that-”

“You don't have to;” she assured him.

“Nah, it's not like I'm doing much at the moment...” He helped her pick up the scattered files and carried the box back to the main room for her, and ignored the feeling that someone was watching him.


	2. In Which Desmond Doubts his Sanity and Sexuality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the visions of his ancestors only getting stronger, Desmond has to wonder- what exactly are they?

“Tighten your gut.”

without thinking Desmond did, the voice was used to being obeyed- far more effective than Lucy's gentle prodding. He found it was easier to pull himself up with his diaphragm taunt, and finally looked over. Altaïr was perched on the edge of the beam above him, watching him calmly.

“Ah, so you finally look at me.”

“You're not real.” Desmond mumbled. Quick as a striking bird Altaïr's fist snapped out and slammed onto Desmond's fingers and the former bartender fell to the floor, managing to land without hurting himself. He flexed his fingers. They were bruising. He couldn’t have hit them on his way down, or smacked them against the beam. But the hallucination was gone.

“What's going on?” he asked the empty air. A flicker of a troop of guards moved past him, and Desmond decided that he'd had enough training for now.

 

He woke up in the middle of the night when his bed moved, and he jerked upright. Ezio was perched on the end of the bed, though he changed his posture to a less threatening one when Desmond stared at him, on his hands and knees as if ready to prowl forward. Less threatening, but not less intimidating.

“Hey, _bambino_ , we should talk.”

“I'm not talking to you.”

“And you're doing a fine job of that.” he did slink forward, straddling Desmond's leg. “We are close, Desmond Miles. Is talking to me that much stranger than being part of me?”

“Ah...” he didn't know how to answer that. “this... this is just the Bleeding effect. It has to be.”

“Does it feel like it?” Ezio traced his hand over Desmond's stubbly cheek, and he could swear he felt the pulse in the other man's finger tips. The touch was gentle, almost tender.

“This is a dream.”

“I'm flattered.” his hands were on either side of Desmond's face, and he rubbed his thumb over the faint scar on Desmond's lip. “But no.”

“I'm running out of options...” he tried to scoot back, but was against the wall. There wasn't as much heat as he'd expect, but there was a definite pressure over his legs. “You have to be a hallucination, or a dream or a ghost or something.”

“No I don't. I am Ezio Auditore, assassin, and _remarkably_ free at this moment.” He leaned in to kiss him and Desmond screwed his eyes shut and braced for impact. The weight in his lap and the hands on his face disappeared, and he opened one eye. He was alone in the room.

With a raging boner.

“What the fuck.” he moaned. He needed to get out more. Or something. He slid down the wall and covered his face with the thin pillow. He wasn't sure if he wished it hadn't happened or that it hadn't stopped.

 

It didn't matter how he slept; Desmond dove into the Animus and being on the right side of Ezio's face. It was amazing how soothing the rush and noise of the city streets of the past could be. He didn't respond to Shaun's snarking commentary; submerging himself entirely in the world of his ancestor, deep enough that it was hard to speak English when he emerged ravenous and exhausted at the end of the day, weeks forward in the memories, hopefully closer to the goal.

He'd.. get through this- muscle through and find the information they needed. He'd ignore the visions of Ezio and Altaïr like he would any Bleeding Effect vision. His efforts kept him in perfect synch; the sessions in the Animus stretching long enough that even Shaun's constant bitching that Desmond wasn't really working came off weakly.

When he wasn't in the animus he would see either Altaïr or Ezio almost constantly. One of them was almost always around- Ezio slightly more likely, sitting on counters and more than once peering down Rebecca's shirt. And if he wasn't mistaken looking at Lucy and Shawn's asses when they bent over. Which in turn directed his own attention to such things, and he really didn't think the thoughts he was having were really necessary for getting things done. Even though he tried not to look at Ezio he got the impression that he was frustrated that Desmond was ignoring him- which explained his drawn out commentary on the state of Shaun's ass. He was an articulate little hallucination, Desmond had to give him that. By contrast Altair almost only showed up when he was training, moving as if he was training beside him, saying little but advice- and generally making him feel like an idiot with comments on his habits. His least favorite was a prod as he'd been about to fall asleep, telling him to get up and bathe, because he was only going to get everything around him disgusting if he didn't. Of all the people telling him to immerse himself in water, Altair was not on the top of the list. It escalated quickly from a prod to being pulled out of bed and dropped on the floor.

Assuming that he'd rolled out of bed half asleep Desmond tried to crawl back in, and instead found himself stumbling towards the bathroom, urged forward by sharp shoves.

“If you can't even walk straight, you should probably sleep.” Desmond blinked blurrily to see Shaun still logging information from the day's findings.

“Believe me I want to.” Desmond groaned as a shove to his shoulder knocked him into a table. “but grampa says I need brush my face and hands and wash my hair for dinner.”

“My god, you're even more incomprehensible like this.”

“Thanks.”

“Don't drown.” he called as Desmond stumbled into the bathroom.

“Go to sleep- someone should.”

 

Desmond could see the gray and white robes of the older assassin leaning against he wall in front of him, clearly waiting him out. Well, he could wait too. _He_ wasn't going to disappear, after all. And if he waited, and ignored this, Altaïr would. Besides, he'd been him- patience was not the guy's strong suit. Yep, despite the purposefully relaxed posture, the tip of one foot was jiggling already. He kept his eye on the scuffed leather of the boots and tried to fight the smile that was creeping over him.

Then something warm and wet traced over his ear and he barely managed to choke down a yelp, turning to see Ezio sitting on the edge of the bed beside him. He wiggled his fingers and grinned, clearly pleased with himself. The tip of one of his fingers glistened with spit. Desmond was somehow relieved that he hadn't actually been licked.

“Didn't your mother ever tell you it's rude to ignore visitors?”

Desmond glanced over his shoulder, seeing Shaun, Becca and Lucy still immersed in whatever they were talking about- it looked more important than the grocery list, at least.

“You're not visitors, you're hallucinations.”

“I can actually lick you, if you'd like?”

“Very complete hallucinations.” He winced as a finger flicked his temple.

“Your senses are fine. Why are you doubting them?” Altaïr demanded, golden eyes glinting. Desmond shook his head and in a fit of inspiration, called up Eagle Vision.

 

There- the faint ghost world, and there was Lucy and Shawn and Becca in different shimmering shades of pale blue. If prolonged use didn't give him a headache, he'd keep it up all the time, since the Bleeding Effect didn't show up in it. Smugly he looked to where the visions of his ancestors were sitting, only to see them as though they were anyone else- if a somewhat richer, more saturated sky blue. Allies. Friends.

And obviously, _not_ hallucinations.

Oh god, what were they?

 

It took him some time to get his voice working.

“How did this happen?”

“You woke us up.” Ezio explained.

“So you're _haunting_ me?”

“No, I'm sorry, I do not mean to confuse. We are...” He looked at Altaïr, not sure how to describe it. The older Assassin shrugged.

“You lived our lives, so we're alive in you.”

“Not how I would have put it.” Ezio made a throwing away gesture. “That makes it sound as though we are nothing but ghosts. It is not as if we understand it. But we _are_ here, little brother. Which is somewhat reassuring, frankly.” He leaned in. “I thought I was mad, when she spoke to someone who wasn't there. I was mad- I had worked so long only to be told I wasn't important.”

Desmond looked up at Altaïr, who shrugged.

“I have no other explanation. I feel you, and your memories, but I am also Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad, the eagle of Masyaf.” He touched his chest, then his chin.“I remember being older than I appear now.”

“As do I.” Ezio grinned. “But I look good at any age.” He laughed as Desmond and Altaïr gave him nearly identical looks of frustration.

“I think I could have lived without him.” Desmond confided to Altaïr who was not playing personal space invader.

“I doubt very much you could. He's helped you more than you know.”

“Of course, we could have used your help in someways; too bad it doesn't go two ways, let's face it, neither of us were very good at 'subtle'” Ezio's grin was self deprecatory.

“Subtle is for Templars and schemers.” Altaïr said with disgust.

“Desmond?” He turned, to look because that was a female voice. Fortunately the ongoing hallucinations went quiet, though he could see them also turning to look.

“Yeah?”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Did you need me?”

“No, just... making sure.” Lucy withdrew again,and he sighed resting his head in his hands.

 

She was pretty sure he wasn't- he'd been talking to himself for a half an hour, twitching back and forth and completely unintelligibly- a mix of Arabic, English and Italian- she'd only caught one or two words, and those she had were not reassuring. She looked back to discover that he'd started again.

 

“So, what, I'm stuck with the two of you talking to me because I lived your lives?”

“I fail to see how this is unfair in anyway.” Altaïr pointed out, arms crossed. “Except perhaps to us, who did not get a say in either half.”

“I don't mind.” Ezio offered, but he wasn't looking at Desmond now, he was looking at Rebecca who was sprawled over the animus console, ass in the air, one foot kicking slightly as she reached for something. Desmond wondered why she just didn't go around to the other side as she finally rocked back down, rolling her shoulders, and from the expression on her face, victorious.

“So since you're here, why don't you just tell me what we're looking for?”

“I don't know what you're looking for.” Ezio shrugged. “And then, how would you learn?”

“We're on a time limit here!”

“We know that, Desmond.” He jumped a mile- the hallucinations- ghosts, whatever they were- were gone, and it was Lucy who answered. The three assassins were looking at him concerned. He strolled down to talk with them hands hooked in his pockets.

“Sorry just... thinking outloud. What's going on? Weren't talking about me, were you?”

“As if you're the most interesting thing in the world.” Shaun drawled, rolling his eyes.

“So, yes.”

“Haha.”

There was a glance between the three of them.

“So... how's the Bleeding effect?” Rebecca asked with no subtlety whatsoever. Humorlessly, Desmond thought Altaïr would approve.

“I've been having some.... moments.” He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing back towards the sleeping area. It was still empty, thank god.

Lucy nodded.

“We're going to be more careful. More breaks. Not too long, really a few hours in the middle of the day anytime you finish a series of tasks or a mission.”

“But this is important.” Desmond protested. “You said that we needed to learn as much as possible as fast as possible...”

“And _you_ are the only part of the equation that we can't replace. If shutting it down for a couple hours more a day gives us more chances to find things out, it's a net gain.”

“I can take it.”

She ignored him.

“If you want to stay useful, you can train your body more. I know your muscles remember but you don't have the strength for somethings yet.”

“I had a theory-” Becca piped up “Cognitive dissonance.”

“Oh this again, you sound like a serial.” Shaun rolled his eyes.

“It's a perfectly valid theory and I think I know a _leeetle_ bit more than you about the workings of Baby, thanks.” She stuck her tongue out at Shaun. “Look, the Bleeding effect teaches you stuff, right, by helping your body and mind remember things that your ancestors have learned. So you also see stuff. Well what if you practiced so your physical body is more comfortable with what it knows it knows. The dissonance between what it knows it can do and what it can do would clear up, and the visuals- might go away.”

“Shaun's right, that does sound like you got it out of a bad scifi show.”

“Desmond.” She looked at him, exasperated. “You spend most of your time strapped to a machine that lets you relive history through your DNA.”

There was a long pause.

“Right, exercise. That'll be good for me. Prevent a stroke.”

 

She was slightly wrong- his muscles were mostly strong enough- he'd been fit before; but he'd noticed their definition was sharper, they were harder in some places, and leaner in others- active muscles, not muscles made just by running to catch a train or lifting crates of beer. He just couldn't hold onto things the way Altaïr and Ezio did. He was however, a little more dexterous.

“It's your grip.”

Desmond's fingers slipped, and another hand closed around his wrist, keeping him from falling. Scrambling he pulled himself up, straddling the beam and stared at Altaïr let go of his wrist. Desmond stared at the slightly bruising skin under his tattoo for a moment, but Altaïr kept talking.

“Your fingers are too soft. Because of that, you don't grip hard enough, you need to toughen them up or you'll keep slipping.” Altaïr reached out and flicked Desmond between the eyes. “Are you listening?”

“I think I liked learning from example better.”

“Bah.” Altaïr looked disgusted. “Like I knew this. It just happened, over years.” He grabbed Desmond's hand, and pressed it to his own. There were calluses, fine scars, and strength. “Practice. Roughen your hands. Or get gloves, which will help, but you'll have to get the right ones.” letting go he spread his hands- The palm of his hand was covered in leather, and the stump of his severed finger was also protected. “I have seen you remembered to keep your gut tight when you climb. Good. Now catch yourself.”

Desmond was prepared for that at least, and grabbed a hold of the beam with his legs, resisting the sweep of Altaïr's arm. Instead he slammed back- then shifted, throwing the palpable force as he would an attacker. The tail of a white robe disappeared, and Desmond realized he was listening for the sound of a body hitting the floor. A hand hooked his foot and hauled, and Desmond toppled downward, only to snag the catwalk, reverse his momentum, and swing up onto it. His palms screamed at the abuse, the skin ached, but he'd landed well. Looking up he saw Altaïr perching on the beam again. He gave a nod of approval.

Desmond tried to suppress a surge of pride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the interest! I hope you enjoy this part.  
> It occurred to me I really should tag for Ezio flirting with Desmond.  
> A pity I can't tag for different chapters. Ah well.


	3. In which they feel like family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It didn't take nearly long enough for Desmond to accept the presence of his not-quite-real-enough ancestor-companions.

Inside the animus he had the voices of Shaun, Lucy and occasionally Rebecca in his ears- checking on him, reminding him of things- in Shaun's case, things he didn't know in the first place, tidbits about history to give him context. It was a bizarre balance of doing things and not doing things. His mind was active racing over rooftops, solving puzzles, treading an intricate web of interpersonal connections. His body was isolated, kept mostly still and quiet on a raised platform while the others moved around him. Sometimes when he was coming out or going under he saw Lucy rest a hand on Rebecca's shoulder, and Shaun put up with a ridiculous amount of semi abuse from the techie, but that seemed to pass him by. They weren't sure what to do with him. Desmond tried to put them at ease, but it didn't seem to help. It took less than a week for him to become used to the company that the visions- or whatever- of his ancestors provided. He could barely picture his time without them. No Ezio flirting or joking and no Altaïr training him? That would have been nearly as much torture as the hopeless days thin Abstergo. Altaïr wasn't as pleasant company as Ezio, but he resonated to something deep inside Desmond, in a way he couldn’t explain.

 

He was fairly sure they were just part of his subconscious- a way of internalizing the Bleeding effect instead of having it fill the world- the next step on the one way track to crazytown. But that didn't explain why they showed up in his Eagle vision. But then he didn't know how that worked, either ,so was it so far fetched to think that it was malfunctioning somehow? It was easier to think of them as inclusive hallucinations, rather than ghosts. Especially because they didn't seem to be ghosts. He'd seen ghosts. He'd seen Ezio's ghost, point of fact, a sketched in charcoal outline of an action; while the whatever-it-was was standing next to him. Ezio, interestingly enough, didn't seem to see it, though Desmond knew they could both see the Bleeding effect normally.

 

What bothered him was he was starting to like it. They felt sort of like what he imagined family _should_ feel like. Supportive. They were there for him. Ezio even told him where Shaun had hidden an extra box of granola bars. Adding actual workouts to his schedule had done horrible things to his metabolism; he felt like he did nothing but lie in the animus, practice what he learned there; and eat. Given the way his bedding tangled around his legs, it seemed he was training in his sleep as well.

But... he looked at the granola bar in his hand- how had he known where it was?

 

It didn't show up in Eagle Vision (he'd tried that the first time he'd needed a snack and couldn't find anything). Ezio said he'd seen Shaun hide it while Desmond was in the animus- but how could a hallucination know something he didn't? How could it touch him? And it if _wasn't_ a hallucination, why in hell was his ancestor hitting on him?

And he was pretty sure Ezio _was_ hitting on him, because his explanation about tasting things in Desmond's mouth was pretty a pretty flimsy excuse to kiss him. Of course, he was _letting_ him, even with so flimsy an excuse, so what did that say about him?

Ezio drew back licking his lips.

“Mnn. Chocolate has improved since my day. Tell me more about the marshmallows.” he pointed at the granola bar eagerly. “Then try the 'peanut butter' one. I'm still not sure what a peanut is.”

“What am I eating for two now?”

“Three, but he is too stuffy to want to taste it.” Ezio nudged Desmond in the ribs, making a joke at Altaïr's expense.

“The hell?”

Desmond looked down guilty and realized that he'd dropped the wrappers as he was eating them, and Shaun was looking at them, and then looked up to where Desmond was perched.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking a break? Isn't that what I'm supposed to be doing?”

Shaun was frowning at a wrapper.

“Well you certainly weren't supposed to be eating my snacks. I may not get to live vicariously though others, but I do need brain food, to do all sorts of _important_ things , like give you sorely needed context.”

Leaning over, Desmond dropped the peanut butter granola bar, pegging Shaun on the head, and ignoring the groan of disappointment from Ezio.

“Enjoy.”

“Of course I'll enjoy. these were supposed to be my damn granola bars.”

“Sorry.”

“Are you really?”

Desmond dropped down to the ground. To his credit, Shaun didn't even flinch.

“Yes, really. Look, unlike some people, I'm not being purposefully obnoxious.”

“Is that what you think I'm doing?”

“Only as a hobby.”

“Don't mind me.” Shaun said, sounding insulted. “I'm just a tea drinking stereotype. Why would I possibly be remotely concerned with your mental state?”

Shaun seemed actually upset, but Desmond struggled to keep a straight face, because Ezio had decided to start making preposterous faces behind Shaun's head. He was starting to miss the normal Bleeding effect.

“No, really.” Desmond held up both hands making a quelling gesture that was much more for Ezio than to reassure Shaun. It didn't work, but he didn't expect it to. Damn it, he knew that Ezio had grown up- he'd been him more mature than this; why was he acting like that? “It's been much better lately, I haven't had a scene slip outside of dreams in days-”

“But you _have_ been talking to yourself. That's not dreams.”

He would love to tell him that he hadn't been talking to himself; but somehow he doubted that would do much to reassure anyone as to his state of mental health. 'oh no, I'm not talking to myself, I was talking to some sort of tactile hallucination projection of my ancestor, who by the way, thinks your ass is plush.'

He doubted that would go over well.

“I guess I might have been.” Desmond admitted slowly.

“Oh _perhaps.”_

“But I have to talk to someone. And it's not like you act like you want to talk to me.” He thought about it “Pretty much _ever,_ unless I do something wrong or you need something. So which is it?”

Unable to deny it, Shaun rubbed the bridge of his nose, pushing up his glasses.

“If we want another session today, we should get started.” he admitted.

Desmond nodded, and patted Shaun's shoulder as he walked past him.

“Was that so hard? You talk plenty straight when it's history... I'm not fragile, and I'm certainly not going anywhere. You guys could just tell me what's going on...”

Shaun shook his head, tossing the granola bar up and down in his hand, and following Desmond back into the room they kept Baby in.

 

          “I have learned the most _bellisimo_ trick.”

Desmond dropped half a bar of synchronization when he heard Ezio's voice as clearly as he would hear Shaun's dry commentary. He simply could not concentrate on being one with history when history was being one with him.

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes!”

He tried to focus on what he- Ezio- was doing.

“What's that word you used the other day? Deja vu?” Ezio sounded gleeful- more so than the flavor of chocolate had made him. “See over there- a street vendor used to sell the most delicious spiced nuts there... He's not there now, but in the mornings, and in the evenings to get the night crowd.”

Desmond could feel the lift in Ezio's chest, a strange doubling of presence.

“Get out of my head...”

“You're in _mine._ Only fair.”

the synchronization dropped further, and he was stumbling- straight into his goal. The Rosa in Fiore. He pushed through into the dim, richly furnished interior. His sister turned from her usual station at the front desk.

“Claudia-” he reached out to embrace her.

“What's the matter with you?” the voice was neither Claudia's nor Lucy's but a mixture of the two.

 

Desmond was dragged back into the real world, gasping and gulping. He sat up and put his head between his knees, letting the tears run down his face. Ezio had been so happy to see his sister again. It had felt like missing someone for hundreds of years, only to see them in front of him again, and it still ached. He felt the hands of the team on him, Becca prodding the interface, and Lucy rubbing circles on his back.

“What happened? What dropped the synch?”

“Why are you crying?” Shaun cut right to the heart of the matter, and Desmond shook his head, and tried to laugh it off, though the painful ache was still lodged in his chest- missing a family that wasn't his.

“Hey” he gulped and scrubbed at the tears, unable to stop them. “I'm a big tough fourteenth century guy, I can be in touch with my emotions.”

“Fifteenth.”

“What?”

“Centuries are referred to by the one following it, which is why people talked about the twentieth century during the years between nineteen hundred and two thousand. Also, you _aren't._ ” He looked at him sharply. “You're Desmond Miles, Twenty-first century _git,_ and I doubt very much in touch with his emotions at all.”

The harsh character criticism was exactly what he needed, and Desmond managed to wrest himself away from the heartache and longing. It wasn't as if he had any great affection for _his_ family. The depth of Ezio's emotion was unfamiliar to him.

“Right. Thanks for putting it all in perspective, Shaun.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, and took a deep breath.

“Someone has to be actually useful.”

“Well with you around it never has to be me.” He nodded to Rebecca “Hate to say it, but since I'm out, can I use the little assassin's room?”

“Yeah one second...” she released the last of the controls and he slid off the table.

“I'll be right back.”

 

“Ezio, show the fuck up right now.” Desmond hissed under his breath barely audible over the running water. He rubbed the cold water over his face, erasing tear tracks. Behind him he heard the distinctive sound of someone blowing their nose. He had to turn because yes, Ezio was crying a bit himself.

“I should have warned you.” he admitted. “I did not expect to... feel the years between us when I saw Claudia.”

“It's a good thing your didn't see your mother, then.” Desmond crossed his arms over his chest, and glared. “But really, you're going to be showing up when I'm in the animus now?”

“Not really.” Ezio assured him. “It's more of... patching in, like they use the pictures to see the memories, yes? Instead, I am patching in to you, so I can see the memories as you relive them.”

“Can't you just remember them yourself?”

“Not like that. Every detail so clear like it was happening. It would be like... a normal memory I suppose. I can only remember certain events with accuracy, and the rest is just general memories.”

“I suppose. I don't remember every drink I've ever mixed.” Desmond rubbed his neck. “Wait, does that mean you can hear my thoughts normally?”

This required thought, and finally Altaïr interrupted.

“No. We can't. Not like thoughts in our own heads. I don't know anything about you, other than that you are my descendant. You've lived _my_ life, but I only know the most surface things about yours.”

“Only the one year.” Desmond admitted “Or... I don't know, it was hard to tell the seasons, it had to have been a long time though.”

“It is a week's ride between Maysaf and Jerusalem, if you have a good horse. If you change horses you might cut off a few days.” He turned his head eyes glinting under his hood. “You have spent more time with Ezio than I. But he doesn't know anything about you, either.” He spread a hand “That is not strictly true- we can by nature of our bond pick up... surface thoughts and memories. Like your Bleeding Effect? That is how we know of electric lights, computers, and cars and the like.” The edge of his mouth curled up into a smirk. “Imagine how frustrating it would be if we didn't?”

“We know you, but we don't know about you.” Ezio added.

“Your scholar is coming to check on you.” Altaïr added. “You'd best hurry.”

“Can I stop you from jumping in on me like that?”

“Would I tell you if you could?” Ezio cocked his head. “It's somewhat dull here with you inside the machine. Watching but not feeling.” He spread a placating hand. “I'll give you space, don't worry. I think I was trying to control you, as you controlled the actions in the memory, and that is what caused the problem. I won't do that again.”

There was a knock on the door.

“Desmond? Did you fall in?”

“Nah, Shaun, I'll be right there.” He shut off the sink and ran his hands over his face again. “It'll do.” he told Ezio under his breath, and left.

“'Somewhat dull'” Altaïr said mockingly. “And yet you feel no shame in leaving me to stew.”

“Stewing might be just what you need to loosen you up.” Ezio retorted tartly.

“If softening was what any of us needed, I doubt very much we would be here at all.”

Ezio clapped a hand on Altaïr's shoulder.

“You are a cheerful one. _We_ are out of it now.”

 

It took less to get used to the doubled presence of Ezio than it had to get used to the Animus interface in the first place. It was just one more commenting voice as he was running through his paces. Sometimes it was more of a pain to remember that the team couldn't hear Ezio's comments. Esspecaily when he corrected Shaun's history.

“Ah-” Desmond felt the echo of Ezio flinch. _“Scusi”_ he mumbled. “You are on your own, now.” and disappear. Desmond couldn’t figure out what brought that on- Ezio had been reveling in the ability to play tour guide, then he realized where he was heading. A bench with a drape of red fabric, and a date- was it were- with Leonardo Da Vinci.

 

Even after he came out of the Animus, he didn't see Ezio for the rest of the day. When he was given a 'day pass' to scramble around outside, in the dusk, he found his ancestor sitting on the edge of the highest part of the roof, staring into the distance. Despite how eager he was to move, Desmond settled down beside him. The view was rather nice.

“So were you and Leonardo Da Vinci ever... uh...” he searched for a delicate way to put it.

“Leonardo? No.” Ezio shook his head a little sadly. “I loved him too much for a casual flirtation. I think he knew, though, how much I love- loved him. I regret it now. Ah. I would have kissed every freckle on his body. It would have taken time, but I think it would have been worth it.” There was a soft, romantic look on Ezio's face, different than his normal flirtatious expression. More like the love he had for his sister and mother. Desmond was almost jealous.

“I wish he was here. He would have been fascinated by the animus machine.”

“I know what you mean.” They both looked over. Altaïr had joined them, getting just a trifle higher by perching on the edge of a chimney. “The device is... intriguing in it's possibilities. I would love to have someone to talk to about it.”

“Do you have people you miss now?” Ezio asked.

“Yes. My wife. My children. Malik.” Altaïr wasn't looking at them, instead looking at the horizon and sunset, as if he could stare through time.

“I'm kind of sorry we don't need anything else from your memories.” Desmond leaned back, letting his back rest on the still warm tiles of the roof. “You could at least do what Ezio does and see them.”

“What good would that do? They are lost to me. To time.” He tipped his head up and looked at the moon. “What about you?”

“Ah, I miss my wife of course, but...”

“Wife?” Desmond sat up and stared at Ezio, who grinned.

“You _do_ know how descendants _work_ , little brother?”

“I kinda assumed it was something on the illegitimate side. I haven't met her yet.”

“You'll like her.” Ezio assured him. “But I'm not going to ruin the surprise.”

“Doing a great job proving to me that you're not some sort of personality fragment I'm imagining.” Desmond poked him, feeling the texture of cloth on his finger and the firm give of muscle beneath it. It had been a natural movement, friend to friend but he stopped spreading his hand over the fabric, or rather the differences in textures between the doublet and the sleeve beneath it.

“You're still doubting your senses.” Altaïr observed.

“It doesn't make any sense.”

“Many things do not make sense.”

“Is that supposed to be comforting? I mean I'm sitting here talking with two long dead men.”

“Should I be comforting Desmond Miles?” Altair demanded. “Will you then comfort me, for what I will never see again? Will you utter some words that will make up for everything I've lost?”

Desmond fell silent, suddenly realizing that if they were real, they were people, with memories, and lives and desires of their own; only trapped in a world where they could only observe. And they were men of action, both of them, more comfortable doing than watching.

“I'm sorry.” He said quietly, looking down at his hands, and Ezio put an arm around him in a companionable embrace. After a long moment, Desmond lifted his arm and held it out to Altair, not expecting any reaction. To his surprise Altair hopped down from his perch and joined them, apparently taking comfort of his own from the contact.

Framed by his ancestor's warm bodies, Desmond found, for the time being that he was incapable of not believing. And he wanted to. He wanted to believe, he wanted Altair's praise,and wanted Ezio's affection. He wanted them to care.

He wanted someone to care about _him_ , Desmond Miles, not Subject Seventeen or any kind of Prophet, or Assassin, just a man.

Altair had had Malik, who had been closer than a brother.

Ezio had had Leonardo, who never saw just an assassin when he looked at him.

Desmond had no one.

Or... he had them.

 

“They do care about him.” Altaïr said, looking around the room. Desmond had settled into Baby again with no hesitation the next morning. Ezio had chosen to remain outside, and observe. Though usualy he observed more than Desmond's unconscious face. “Stop staring at him, Ezio.”

Ezio traced his fingers over Desmond's forehead again.

“I can't help it, this machine is incredible. I don't even remember half the things he's remembering, and I lived them! Seeing them, I know they happened, but I wouldn't be able to recall them.” He looked up and shook his head. “He shouldn't be so lonely.” he said quietly. “He has his brothers with him.”

Altaïr inclined his head towards Rebecca who he was standing behind,trying to figure out the controls- without much luck.

“... they are his brothers too. Sisters are different.”

“You _also_ think he should be sleeping with them.”

“Not all at the same time, necessarily.” He grinned up at his ancestor.

“You disgust me.”

Desmond made a noise and the entire room focused, Ezio spread his hand over his descendant’s forehead. “No no not that way.” he muttered quietly. “ _non essere un coglione_ ,” His form flickered out, leaving Altaïr in the room with three Assassins who couldn't see or feel him. He felt his lips curling into a sneer. They could all, in his opinion spend more time training. Even Lucy never trained unless she was prompting Desmond. Intellectually, Shaun and Rebecca were only scholars- but even the scholars of his day were more capable.

“And you mock him for being out of shape.” the eagle prodded the back of Shaun's sweater and went through like smoke. He returned to his post to watch. It was all he could do.

“Huh.” He glanced back at Shaun as the scholar leaned back from his console. “Have you noticed that Des has been getting lost less lately? Every time I think he's going to, he suddenly corrects himself.”

“Thank you for noticing.” the interface crackled. “I got a new guidebook. Roma on ten florins a day.”

Rebecca laughed.

“Well, keep it up; it's speeding things up beautifully.”

“Your wish is my command, _bella.”_

Rebecca fiddled with some cables, a bit confused. It had been a bit garbled, and the sentence hadn't even really sounded like Desmond. But it wasn't important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ezio is turning out to be a much bigger part of the story than I thought he would be- of course, when I started writing, I thought they were hallucinations too.
> 
> Then they started talking to each other when Desmond wasn't there...


	4. In Which Shit Goes Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seeing is believing- but not seeing and believing is an option too.

“What's wrong?” Desmond asked as they brought him out. He blinked a few times “Or is this just another 'run around for a bit to make sure my brain doesn't explode' break?”

“There are some odd power surges going on.” Becca explained. “So, kinda yes, kinda no. Don't want to accidentally fry your brain, so you're off the hook until I track them down.”

“I appreciate that.”

He was starting to stand up when a warm body collided with his chest, and Ezio's hands fisted in his shirt.

“The Templars are coming!” his eyes were wide and frantic and the shake he gave was pressing Desmond backwards. “Don't let them destroy my home again!”

“Ezio calm down.” without thinking Desmond put his hands on the assassin's shoulders and gave him a shake in return. “We have to...” And he looked around “Not have this conversation here... in front of everyone else.”

“We don't have _time,_ The Templars are coming you either believe I'm real, or you don't; but you have to believe me!”

“Now you're not even making any sense.”

“Desmond, what's going on?”

“Not now, Lucy!”

“uh, ladies... his shirt-” Shaun pointed out. “I can't figure out how his shirt is doing that...” Desmond looked down, Ezio's frantic pulling was tugging it out of shape, away from his chest. And clearly, Shaun could see _that_ at least.

“Shaun” Desmond looked over at him. “What are the chances of this place being compromised? I mean the Templars finding it.”

“It's possible- but we would have heard a proximity alarm by now;”

“Alarms can be subverted.” Altaïr appeared behind him, and nodded to Desmond. “Tell him. Tell them to start gathering the... thing.” he waved at the Animus.

“I can't do that, I'm just he crazy test subject, I can't tell them _anything._ ”

He heard Lucy's breath drawn in quickly.

“ _Make_ your authority, Assassin.” snapped Altaïr so sharply, that both Desmond and Ezio winced.

“Shaun make sure the alarm is working.” Desmond said firm, in the tone of an order “Becca, you should start preparing Baby for transport. Lucy I'm sorry, but you're going to have to trust me.”

“Trust you? You're talking to thin air, I think trust is a little out of the question right now.”

“No-” He dropped his hold on Ezio and pointed at her instead. “This is EXACTLY when trust is needed. I trusted you, and I had a hell of a lot less reasons to do so when I did.”

A string of expletives interrupted, and Shaun began shoving things into boxes.

“He was right, I don't know how he was- the outer ring's been disabled, and I can't get it back up, so it's not a glitch.” He stared through his glasses at Desmond. “How did you know?”

“I ...” He shook his head. Too late to look sane now. “Altaïr told me.”  
“Altaïr- and Ezio too you said. They're here. In this room.”

“Yes.”

“And this has been going on for...?”

“Uh... it might have been weeks? But the Bleeding Effect Hallucinations stopped. It's just... them.”

“Alright, fine, if that's true, tell me something they've seen that you can’t know.”

“Altaïr says we don't have time for this, unless we intend to fight- and he's gone. I don't know what he thinks he's going to do... Ezio says that the last time the laundry got done, Becca's pink panties with the green lace got stuck to one of your shirts, and you found it and were too embarrassed to return them, so they're at the bottom of your laptop bag because no one but you ever goes into it. Becca why do you even have pink panties with green lace?”

Shaun turned bright red, mouth flapping open and closed. Desmond gave his head a little shake.

“ _Really_ Shaun? What are you, twelve?”

“You can keep 'em for now.” Becca shot over, coiling cables and tossing them into a pile.

“We're running out of places to go.” Lucy chewed on the side of her finger.

“Worry about that later.” Shaun turned and resumed packing up. “We need to get out now.”

Altaïr reappeared.

“There are not many of them. Certainly not more than three score.” He jerked his head at Desmond.“I'll show you where they are- they are moving in silence, so if you can kill them the same way, it will gain you time.”

“They're not here to destroy the town?” Ezio shook himself free of panic. “Of course not! That happened long ago. _Io sono un pazzo_ ” He shook himself and turned to face Altaïr, and Desmond noticed that he'd been wearing a simple blue doublet- but only because it shifted now to the layered white and red assassin's robes. “Show him; I know the area better- I will double check, make sure you didn't miss any.” He strode away, disappearing.

“Arrogant pup.” Altaïr rolled his eyes. “Reminds me of myself.”

“Desmond, stop twitching and make yourself useful.” Shaun shoved a box into his arms, and Desmond shoved it back.

“I'm going to; they've found the intruders. I'm going to take care of them.”

“'They'” Lucy didn't look like she quite believed him yet. Desmond slung his bag over his shoulder. It was filled with assassin's tools- old fashioned ones like smoke bombs and throwing knives, and newer ones, like flash bombs and a gun he hoped he'd never use.

“Yes, Altaïr- I'm coming don't worry.” He flexed his arm, checking the release of his hidden blade and looked at Lucy with challenge in his eyes. “The question is, are you?”

 

It felt good to have it out in the open.

 

It also felt good to move silently through the deepening dusk. He couldn't follow Altaïr- invisible even in his white assassin's robes, but he didn't need to for long. The targets were closer than he would have liked, blazing red in his eagle vision. Ezio took full advantage of only being audible to Desmond, letting out an earsplitting whistle that only he heard, directing him to night-goggle wearing soldiers who were approaching with caution. Did they know they were here, or were they just making sure? It didn't matter to Desmond, and he shook his shoulders loose before throwing himself into their midst.

 

It wasn't until the last of them were dead and he was waiting on word from his helpful ghosts that he realized that he was drenched to the elbows in blood, and he had killed- not just one man, but a dozen.

Lucy was staring at him, not in horror, thank god, but in wonder.

“Ezio says they all came in the same van- or at least he only found one.” At the italian's prodding he began going through the pockets of a dead man, taking weapons and ammunition. They were well armed, a gun and what appeared to be a tactical baton- or a shock stick- each. “But let's check; do another sweep.”

 

They swept over the estate and found nothing but the fan cold and dark. Lucy used the keys from one of the team and opend up the back- it was for moving people but also had communications equipment. Desmond whistled a little, used to the comfortable clutter that tended to accumulate around Shaun and Becca. Lucy was working them over, frowning.

“What are you doing?” Desmond asked, leaning on the edge of the door, unconsciously doing so without touching it with his fingers, instead bracing his clothed forearm.

“We had to kill them fast to keep radio silence, so we couldn't question them. I'm looking for orders. Abstergo is cocky, they might not have changed too many codes... ahha.” She leaned over the console there we go.” Seeing her focused on decoding the information Desmond turned to keep watch. He wouldn't be any use to her in that. He wasn't clever like them, but apparently he was good at killing people now.

 

He pressed his lips together. As complete as the memories were, it was different outside the animus.

“What is she doing?”

He looked up and saw Altaïr perched on the top of the van. He started not to answer, then answered quietly instead.

“She's looking for information. Why they were here.”

“They were looking for you.” the assassin pointed out. “That much is clear. She seems... familiar with their ways.”

“Lucy was undercover for a long time.”

“Brave woman.”

“She rescued me.”

“Desmond?” he turned away and stuck his head back into the van.

“What is it?”

“Good news for a change.” She grinned. “They were just checking possible safe houses- and I just sent off a message saying this one was empty and they were heading to the next; radio silence, so a coded text message is what was expected.” Amusement drained from her face however. “Go get Rebecca and reassure the others. She'll want to salvage what she can from this. We're going to make this team disappear.”

He nodded and shot off. A single glance back revealed that Altaïr hadn't moved from his perch atop the van, though Desmond wasn't sure why.

 

He had to help move the bodies, stacking them like building blocks in the back of the van. He wasn't allowed to leave the town, that would be Lucy and Shaun's job, but they promised to bring back takeout as a treat if they found something. He got to stay back down in the hideout with Rebecca as she tried to reformat Baby to be easier to pick up and move, mumbling things like 'if we just cut and run and I do this' and 'if I add a kill switch here'

Not exactly awesome company, but at least she wasn't peppering him with questions- she'd gotten her answers from Lucy as to the attack.

 

Eventually he couldn't take it, and withdrew to semi privacy, where he didn't have to listen to her. Ha.

Hilarious that he was bothered by hearing someone talk to themselves. He wondered when Lucy and Shaun would get back.

 

“Don't worry.” Desmond jumped, and Ezio sat down beside him, still in assassin’s whites. He hadn't realized how he'd gotten used to the more relaxed appearance. It made him itch to reach out and pull the assassin’s hood down. Finally, he gave in to temptation. Ezio blinked at him, surprised. Desmond was surprised too. There was sadness in his eyes, even though his mouth had been smiling.

“I'm sorry, Desmond.” Ezio shook his head. “I have not been useful to you. I just... was enjoying it. Not having responsibility, not having a mission, you are a brother of course, and your mission is vital, but being... so removed, I never thought to help you, not really.”

“Look I don't really know what we're looking for; or what we're doing.” Desmond admitted. “And you said yourself, you can only remember things like a human would, which means some details are lost- with the animus I can remember everything that happened to you.”

“'Nothing is true, everything is permitted.'” Ezio recited quietly. “I wanted to be a child again, to run and play _._ And I treated it like a game when it was not. And then the men came, and all I could remember was losing what I'd worked so hard for...”

“Hey,” Desmond put an arm around his ancestor, for the time being ignoring the rest of the world. Ezio leaned into it eagerly. “There isn't much you _can_ do. And you have been helping, in the animus- it's much easier to ask you what I should do next than to guess.”

“You're entirely too kind, Desmond.” Ezio buried his face in Desmond's neck, and stayed there for a moment. Finally he sighed. “I remember something my father said once.” he said lips brushing against Desmond's throat as he talked. Desmond tried not to squirm, it was ticklish there, and not entirely in a funny way. It was one thing to accept that the vision of his ancestor was hitting on him, and it was another to accept that he was more than a little into it. “He said ' sometimes the only way to fix a mistake is not to make the same one again'.”

 

Desmond found himself absurdly jealous of the kind of father who would say something like that. Ezio sat up and took Desmond's shoulders in his hands.

“I actually told some of my recruits that. It sounds better than 'learn from mistakes' doesn't it? Or 'whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger'” He rolled his eyes. “I know from experience; whatever doesn't kill you may leave you too weak to withstand the next blow.”

“There's only so far you can run before there's nowhere left to go.” Desmond offered, something he'd learned as he'd tried to escape from being an assassin. Before this. Before suddenly having a reason, for having it starting to have meaning. It had always had meaning for Ezio even if that reason was revenge.

“Ah, but the best place to hide is in a place they've already searched.” Ezio pointed out. “And thanks to your Lucy's cleverness, they think they have. It will take time for them to realize the team is missing, and more to discover where they disappeared.”

He put his arms around Desmond, now, and stroked his face. Desmond tipped his head into the touch, and kissed back without thinking.

“I will give you all I can now.” Ezio promised, smelling like sunlight and wine that hadn't been pressed for hundreds of years. “This I promise. Even if it is nothing but support and succor.”

A hot shiver ran down Desmond's spine, and he dug his fingers into the back of Ezio's doublet.

 

Oh why the hell not...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we go for a couple of milestones. 
> 
> The rest of the team more or less knows about Desmond's... problem.  
> and yeah, he and Ezio totally had sex right there.


	5. In which Ezio is a Slut and Things Get intresting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Training, Flirting, kissing, exploration of exactly what is going on and misuse of the animus.
> 
> Lucy does not believe in ghosts.

“They're quiet today.” Ezio commented. Since the Bleeding Effect did help Desmond learn, he gave him time to absorb it. Without him, however much he welcomed the time submersing himself in his own memories, like a dream. He was perched by his descendant’s legs, watching Lucy pace without saying anything. Becca and Shaun were both absorbed in their screens, though Shaun would occasionally look up around the room, as if looking for something, then go back to work, watching Desmond perform in the virtual world of the Animus.

“I wonder why that is.” Altaïr rolled his eyes. “They wonder if we are listening.”

“Well we are.” Ezio gave a laugh.

“Are you going to help them?” Altaïr asked. “It is your memories they are sorting through now. They hardly ever speak of mine.”

“You are still _my_ favorite.” Ezio smiled, patting the edge of the animus next to him, inviting Altaïr to sit with him. “I even still admire you after knowing you for a while.”

“Even then, hmm?” Altaïr rolled his eyes concealed by his hood. “But no, I am not sitting by you.”

“You are no fun at all.”

“I don't care if they cannot see us, Ezio, I am not having sex in the middle of a room of people. Besides- Desmond can see us, and he is still here, just... asleep.”

“It's simply how I display my affection.”

Altaïr laughed in a single shaking of his shoulders. It was good to see. Even after meeting him in person, Ezio still admired Altaïr... though he was not what he expected of the legendary mentor.

“... does it worry you?”

“Hrm?”

“Does it worry you that they have stopped speaking now they know we hear?”

“... a trifle.” Ezio flipped his hand. “That does mean they were saying things before they did not wish Desmond to hear about later.”

“Yes.” Altaïr leaned on the back of Becca's chair as she made a minute adjustment. “but they only mentioned it in passing.”

The room was silent but for the breath of the machines for a long moment, before Altaïr said what they were both thinking.

“They're looking for the Apple.” Altaïr shook his head. “It is not a prize or a toy.”

“Or a tool worth using.” Ezio frowned. He rubbed the fingers of his hand along his palm, remembering the feeling of it draining his life away, even as it struck targets around him. Altaïr had used his apple for knowledge, instead of a weapon.

“Should we help them?”

“...we already are.” Ezio looked at the animus frowning. “I hid it for a reason. Perhaps Desmond is that reason, but I do not know if I trust it.”

“I know I don't.” The long dead assassins shared a nod, and settled down to wait for Desmond to awake again. For now they would wait.

 

It was early in the morning, and Shaun wasn't quite awake yet, one hand clutching a mug of tea that was still too hot to drink, and the other rubbing his eyes. Movement attracted his attention to a figure in a hoodie doing something needlessly energetic.

“What are we watching here?” Shaun asked, leaning next to Lucy. Desmond was too focused on what he was doing to notice the addition to the audience, eyes steady and focused on thin air in front of him.

“From what I gather, Desmond is learning sword work the old fashioned way.” Shaun glanced over and realized she was holding a chemical cold pack on her arm, and a livid bruise peeked out on one side of it. “From Altaïr.” the tone of her voice indicated she still wasn't sure if she believed it.

“It's an interesting shadow-play, anyway.”

“I don't think it's really an effective way to wield a baton.” she frowned, as Desmond lost his grip the baton clattering away over the floor. He blocked an invisible blow with a quickly unsheathed blade, and flung himself backward- no, that looked like he'd been kicked in the gut. Still ignoring Lucy and Shaun he glared at thin air and spat something under his breath, before standing up, dusting himself off, and watching thin air, thoughtfully. Glancing up, he saw that his audience had doubled, and walked towards them.

“What's up?”

“I could ask you the same thing?”

“Oh, Ezio and Altaïr started sparring. After kicking my ass.” He smiled apologeticly to Lucy. “I did say I was sorry.”

She lifted the cold pack, and gave a half smile at the bruise.

“Well, I guess being ready to engage a target while distracted is good. You could have done without the girly scream though.”

“I did not.”

“He totally did.” Lucy said conspiratorially to Shaun. _“'Yeep!'”_ she mocked.

“He said there was a Templar behind me.”

“Are you blaming your imaginary friend?” Lucy said “Seriously?”

“Yes.” Desmond said with a completely straight face. “He's a jerk.” His head jerked forward and he clapped his hand to the back of it “Ow.”

“You know what Luce, I totally buy that Desmond yelps like a girl.” His tea was finally cool enough and he took a sip,

“I can feel the love.” Desmond sighed theatrically, and walked back into the empty area. He didn't enter a ready stance like someone steeling themselves to fight, it just started.

“I feel like _I'm_ going crazy, Shaun.” Lucy said quietly, putting the cold pack back on her bruise. It must have hurt a lot. “We have to get him to – this _can't_ be real.”

“He's stopped screaming at night.” Shaun said quietly, almost conversationally.

“None of the other subjects demonstrated this level of hallucinations.”

“None of the other subjects _lasted_ this long. None of the other subjects spent as much time in the Animus as he has.”

She sighed, letting the air out of her lungs slowly.

“Look...”

“What is it the old Assassins say?” Shaun cocked his head, raising his mug to his lips. “'Nothing is True, Everything is permitted'? Why _not_ ghosts?”

“That's supposed to be a freeing mantra to help us get rid of the mental block against killing, Shaun.”

“Alright, try this; if you've ruled out every logical possibly, than whatever is left, however improbable, must be the answer.”

“So you believe him?”

“I believe _enough_.” Shaun clarified. “I'm seeing things I don't understand, and until I do, I'm going to keep watching.” They watched Desmond move for a while, too rough for a kata or shadow boxing, as though he was struggling against unseen forces.

 

He was smiling.

 

Shaun was always surprised that Rebecca didn't care about getting more air, or seeing things outside the team. To her, her computers, and her Baby were all she needed. Lucy, however was taking every chance to get out. So, she was getting food, and he was keeping an eye on Desmond, at her insistence. She seemed to think he was one step away from a complete breakdown. Shaun would have rather gone with her, or kept up with his research. It didn't take long before the conversation drifted towards the newest quirk in their lives.

“So how does it work?” Shaun wanted to know. “What are the rules of these magic ghosts?”

“Like I know.” Desmond shrugged _“They_ don't even know.” He picked up a pen and started writing down what he'd observed. “They can touch me, I can touch them, they can't touch anything else- but they do effect things around me- Altaïr has stolen my blankets, you saw Ezio tug my shirt. Here, Ezio take this.” He looked at the pen, and offered it to thin air. His fingers shifted on it minutely “Check it out, you can see where the range of influence stops.” He released his hold on the pen slowly, dropping his hand away, making it look like the pencil was floating. When his hand was completely spread, with the tip of the pen not even touching it hovered for a moment more, then dropped. Desmond snatched it out of the air before it hit the ground. “I thought it was just stuff that touched me, before but there's a certain amount of 'close by' that works too.” He cocked his head. “... Ezio says that he can sometimes push buttons? If I'm in the same room.”

“Really? This entire thing is sounding like some sort of poltergeist phenomenon.”

“So I'm not crazy, I'm psychic?” Desmond asked, arching an eyebrow. His clothes shifted under an unseen force and he tipped his head to the side a bit, flushing. Shaun chose to ignore it.

“Well, that would explain the eagle vision; and you're connecting with two other people who had it, as well. That might be the link.”

“I thought you were a scientist...”

Shaun snorted.

“Not hardly, Desmond. _Lucy_ is a scientist. _Rebecca_ is a scientist- computer science at least. I'm a historian and a conspiracy theorist. Not exactly known for a firm grounding in reality.”

“That does explain why you're more accepting of all this.” Desmond frowned, “Ezio says he wants to try an experiment; could you get closer?”

“Try what?” Shaun did lean closer however, as if they were schoolboys sharing a secret. His eyes went wide, as he felt, distinctly, lips press against his. He knew they weren't Desmond's because he could see the barkeep's mouth and he looked as shocked as Shaun felt.

“Oh God, Ezio I don't need to see that.” he moaned.

Shaun felt a hand on his shoulder, but the pressure was... less than it might be, though the presence was there. It was trying to pull him closer to Desmond. And that was a tongue- definitely a tongue demanding entrance to his mouth. His eyes closed and suddenly he couldn’t tell he wasn't kissing a normal person- Shaun's lips parted.

 

Desmond pushed him away, and turned to the empty side, performing what looked like a flailing dance, hissing in Italian.

 

Shaun flushed and rubbed his face.

“It's okay, Desmond.”

“You just got molested by a ghost.” Desmond retorted, looking for all the world like he had someone in a headlock- or like he was a little teapot. “Really close to my face, too. Yes, that was molesting, you... manwhore. I don't care if there's nothing wrong with being a whore, you are! See if I feed you more chocolate.” He yelped and was flung quite suddenly into Shaun, who grabbed his arms to keep them both from falling over.

“I didn't mind.” Shaun said quietly, his mouth near Desmond's ear. It wasn't something he wanted broadcast. He lurched forward, suddenly flush against Desmond, as he felt a body against his back.

“Ezio no!” Desmond groaned, and out of the corner of his eye, Shaun was treated to an up close view of someone being kissed by an invisible partner. For an instant, he had to agree that it was disturbing; but then he realized that according to Desmond, Ezio was as visible as he was. And it was confusing enough to feel it, especially a certain hot press of a distinctive lump.

“Holy shit.” Shaun clutched at Desmond’s back. “... make him let go.” he pleaded “I changed my mind. I do _not_ want to get this up close and personal with history.”

“If you think I have _any_ control over _either_ of them, you've gotten the wrong idea about this entire situation.”

“What a pity.” Shaun said dryly, watching Desmond turn an amazing shade of scarlet. “Is he saying something?”

“Oh _god,_ the things he's saying.”

Shaun's curiosity burned now.

“Well, don't keep the eloquence of a master assassin to yourself- what's he saying?”

“Do you really want to know?”

Shaun shifted against Desmond as the invisible body shifted against him, and he felt something brush against his ear. The pressure was less than a normal body but it was definitely there.

“Uh... He's saying” Desmond swallowed, and repeated word for word. “'With you holding onto him, I can touch him. If you held him open pressed to your chest we could share, and put a smile on his face.'” He licked his lips, and continued, in Italian, and what Shaun understood of it was filthy. Filthy in the best way possible. He could only hope Desmond could either not feel, or was willing to ignore his reaction.

“Desmond.” he said after a long moment.

“Yes?”

“Your ancestor is a slut.”

Desmond groaned, and dropped his head to Shaun's shoulder.

“Trust me, I know.” When he raised his face again, Shaun felt a shove at the back of his head, and their mouths mashed together in a sort of kiss.

 

Desmond was reminded of a child playing with dolls, and made up his mind to hurt Ezio- even if it didn't last. But then somehow it turned into a proper kiss, and he didn't even realize when Ezio let go. It felt more natural to continue, with kisses escaping the mouth, to go to ears and neck and

“If you make one crack about gay Brits...” Shaun breathed in his ear.

“None of my business...” Desmond retorted, and kissed him again. “... is it?”

“Wouldn't have thought you swung that way.”

“Really? I ping people's gaydar all the time. Makes people think I'm harmless.”

Shaun scoffed, and lipped at his ear.

“Fuck.” He stopped, because he wanted to go further. “There is no chance of doing anything without Ezio watching, is there?”

“No. Not really.” Desmond sighed heavily.

“Damnit,” He could still feel hands on him that weren't attached to Desmond, which was pretty disconcerting.

 

 

“Desmond-” Lucy snapped her fingers to get his attention.

“Des, hey, dude, stop listening to people the rest of us can't hear. That's just rude.” Rebecca pointed out.

“I wish the rest of you could hear them. Maybe they'd stop talking my ears off.” He gave a shrug, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Anyhow, sorry, what were you saying? No, not you-” he shook his head again. “Lucy-”

She started to explain again, but was interrupted by a yelp.

“Hey- what- no!” Desmond danced backwards, sneakers scuffing on the ground. It was terrifying to watch- Lucy supposed that Desmond could have been doing it to himself, but it really looked like an unseen force was pushing him down onto Baby. Rebecca yelped as it started up on it's own, and Desmond's eyes shut, almost out of habit.

“-and I said lie back and relax” the interface crackled. “You allow Ezio _his_ games, but I must wrestle you to attempt my theories?” the voice was... similar to Desmond's, but accented differently, and rougher.

“There aren't any memories loading.” Rebecca said quietly.

“How did you do that?” That was Desmond's voice.

“I am not stupid.” the other voice said harshly. “I figured out the Apple, an equally complex piece of sorcery, and I did not even have the benefit of watching someone else work it for weeks before.”

“Are we hearing...?” Shaun said, shocked.

“Altaïr.” Lucy was shocked- she after all had heard the voice at Abstergo, when Desmond had first gone into the animus.

“Can he hear us?”

“I can always hear you, idiots. You are the ones who cannot hear _me_.” the interface crackled again. There was static, but it was fairly clear. “So do you believe him now?”

“We believed him before...”

“Good, act like it. You wanted us, our memories enough to drive him mad for us, and now you have us, and him as well.” Altaïr's voice dissolved into static for a moment. “You are looking for the Apple. Ezio's Apple.” There was no sound but the hum of the computers and lights for a long moment. “Ah, now you bickering hens are silent.”

“Hey now” Becca protested.

“I did not say it was a bad thing. Unlike any of you, I have made a study of the thing. And I would know _why.”_

There was a faint murmur like static, like a voice in the distance.

“ _We_ would know why.” Altaïr corrected.

“We need to keep the Templars from getting their hands on it.”

“Is that all?” the suspicion was thick in his voice.

“What other reason do we need?”

“and all of this” Again there was a static filled crackle that sounded like an expletive “Is just to find the apple?”

“Abstergo, the Templars, they wanted the map that led to other pieces of Eden. What they wanted with that, I'll leave to your experience. And _then_ there's Minerva's prophecy.” Her voice plainly said 'as though we didn't have enough problems.' “So if you could just let us work?”

“Work. To find the location of an item. When there is someone here who knows where it is.”

“Right, because Ezio's _such_ a helpful person to us.”

“I hid it in a vault under the coliseum in Roma.” There was a second voice, and Desmond's forehead wrinkled, as if he had a headache. Like the first, it sounded something like Desmond's- if perhaps, he had lived his life speaking Italian, in houses heated by fireplaces. “It was vault of the ones who came before. I left a clue for the ones who would come after me.” the voice added.

“There was a place marked in Italia.” Altaïr's voice confirmed.

“And at any rate, you never asked. I would never refuse a pretty lady with a good reason.”

Lucy just gaped, staring at Desmond's prone form.

“This is a strain on him. This device was not meant to be used like this.” Altair's voice came again.

“Wait, Ezio- the dates that Desmond saw on the wall; are those the clue?” Shaun broke in, not wanting to miss this chance.

“Si. But... they are not dates.”

Rebecca had resumed her station and shut Baby down, though she was still mumbling about it. Frankly, if her words were to be believed, Altair was lucky that he wasn't there physically, or she would have given him whatfor for messing with her Baby. Released, Desmond's hands went to his head, pressing down over his eyes, as air hissed out between his teeth.

“That hurt more than synch failure.”

“Get up.” Lucy prodded, as Shaun worked through the vital information that the numbers, while a clue were not dates. “If your subconscious is going to get us there, so much the better.” She frowned a little and shook her head. “I trust the animus more, so I wish we could have gotten to seeing it for ourselves, but it's worth a shot and we don't want to waste time.” Desmond rubbed his head painfully.

“Uh, if you want to see, maybe... Ezio could lead me into the memory, as opposed to me having to take them linearly?” he squinted against the light, clearly fighting off a headache. “I mean, they are his, and he clearly remembers personally.”

“You up to that?” Rebecca asked. “If it is, we're going to have to pack up everything, and once we leave, we'd need to find a new safehouse,” They turned and looked at her. “I'm just saying it would be nice to be sure.”

“Des” He looked up and Shaun tossed him a bottle of water, which he snatched out of the air and drained, giving his eyes another rub.

“Thanks.” He said nodding to Shaun. “Yeah, I can take it. Sorry, Ezio, signed you up without asking.” He looked at an empty space and snorted. “I know.”

“Know what?” Lucy asked.

“He's reminding me he promised to help.” He lay back down. “Let's go.”

 

The first thing to appear on the monitors was the interface,which scrolled across itself then zoomed in, expanding to a lush, unfamiliar scene, and a woman with red hair leaning over a map.

“What is this” Rebecca demanded. “Where is this?”

“I wanted Desmond to meet my wife.” Ezio's voice purred, distorted faintly from what it sounded like when Desmond relived his memories. “And this proves that yes, I can take him to any point _I_ remember.” The view shifted, and they saw, the weathered figure of what was clearly Ezio.

“Oh man, you got old.” Rebecca said without thinking.

“As men do.” Ezio sounded amused.

“Don't worry, you're still hot. A silver fox.”

“ _Grazie._ ” The scene dissolved as the woman looked up and smiled with curiosity and intelligence on her face. The interface scrolled again.

“Hey, a little slower.” Desmond protested. “I feel like I'm getting whiplash.”

“My apologies, little brother.” The next scene was hardly as pleasant, and they followed Ezio first in, then out of the hidden vault below the Colosseum.

“Let's go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think that the story will wrap itself up in about one more chapter. 
> 
> I'm not completely sure, because there are a few things I don't quite understand. I'm going to have to go back and rewatch the end of Brotherhood to try to get some facts straight, but as we can see, we're starting to diverge sharply from canon.


	6. In which they gain the apple and lose so much more

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they have only to pick the apple, they have plenty of time before the Templars launch their satellite, and Desmond's link with his ancestors makes things smoother.

It was a long ride to Rome, even in a truck, and Desmond jumped at the chance to pass it in the Animus, especially after an awkward half an hour of question and answer with him translating for his ancestors. Altair had stopped answering after a handfull, and Ezio kept making things up as 'Altair' with a not entirely bad impression of him. Desmond actually got the impression that Altair thought it was funny, but wasn't admitting it. Better to try and grasp more of Ezio's life- for clues that might be useful later that the man himself might not remember.

“You look more relaxed now;” Becca commented

“What can I say, I got caught up in it- I wanted to know how the Borgia ended.” He gave a half shrug.

“History could tell you that. _Badly.”_ Shaun growled.

“Wow. What crawled up your ass and died?”

“What a charming turn a phrase.” Shaun covered his face with his hands. “I wouldn't say it's simple, but it's certainly obvious once you know.” He glared- distinctly over Desmond's shoulder, obviously trying to hit Ezio with it. Helpfully Desmond jerked his thumb over his other shoulder- where Ezio was actually standing. It wouldn't affect him, but it was always best to get things to the proper address. “And it is a lousy password. It might as well be forty-two.”

“Ezio says that number has no significance, and he didn't set the password anyway.” Desmond sighed himself, he really hated playing translator like this.

“If they're going to stick around, I thin more cross contamination is called for.” Shaun gave a smile, and Desmond smiled back, without thinking. It was weird, really, that admitting to this bizzare madness- he could feel Ezio leaning against his back- was making him closer to the others. Well- most of them. Lucy was stony faced, focused on what was coming, driving in a single minded fashion.

 

For trained assassins- even desk jockeys like Rebecca and Shaun sneaking into a construction site like the Collesuem's refurbishing effort was easy enough. Finding the right place to start to get to the tunnel was harder- and so much had changed Ezio wasn't much use. They found it eventually, though Desmond had some things to say about Ezio's commentary under his breath; he tried to keep it to himself. Because well... Lucy.

“What are you staring at me for?” Desmond asked.

“So you really are a prophet.” Lucy shook her head. “Hearing voices....”

Desmond snorted. “Altaïr has some pretty choice words about prophets, which I am not going to repeat- no, not any of them. This is the only idea we have, so we're going to go with it.” He fought the urge to hide in his hood- that wasn't him. He didn't hide, not like that. That was them. He ran, but he didn't hide his face. “... are you _mad_ at me?” he asked suddenly confused. She'd been pretty short with him since the instance with the Templars- he would have thought she'd be glad that he was shaping up into a proper assassin. It was probably more that she didn't really believe in his ancestor's presence.

“Mad? No.” she shook her head. “I'm _worried_ about you, Desmond.”

“Hey. Don't worry.” he patted her upper arm, amicably.

“Right.” She shook her head. “Let's go-”

“I think that maybe we should go.” Shaun said. “In case you need an actual historian, not just some muscle bound lout who happened to be alive then?”

Desmond grinned at Rebecca

“I think Shaun likes Ezio better than he likes me.”

“Pretty sure.” she agreed.

“Well, if the tunnel runs that way...” Lucy said thoughtfully. “It might come out under the hill- we could look for another entrance...”

“I'll go this way.” Desmond said, and tapped his ear piece. “Becca can track me with this, right?”

“Right.”

“Just follow along the easy way then. See you.” He dove off the edge of the wall, slithering down construction lines.

 

The deeper he got into the underground the more uncomfortable he got- when the figure made of light appeared, he almost fell over, and it was only Ezio catching him that stopped it. But he was staring too. Altair, by contrast had his sword out.

“That was not here before.” Ezio assured Desmond. “Whatever they recorded must be responding to your presence.”

“that's not really reassuring.”

“What's not?” Lucy's voice sounded in his ear.

“ah- nothing.” He kept going, and when she appeared again, talking about records and destruction, he managed not to react.

 

When the lever opened the ceiling, and Rebecca said she had a proper lock on him, Desmond climbed up to find himself in a church. He'd never been comfortable in churches, though it was plain that Ezio paid it at least some reverence. For the idea, not the practice. Altair looked, if anything, more surly than ever with his contempt.

“Ezio, why couldn’t have we come here directly?” Desmond demanded.

“I had to sneak in.” he grumbled. “By that complex route; and judging from that locked door, so did you.” Snorting and shaking his head, Desmond let the rest of his team in. He hoped they'd found a good place to hide the van.

“So it's in here somewhere, then?” Shaun turned in a slow circle. “Santa Marie Aracoeli. Catholic church built on Roman ruins- a Temple to Juno. I suppose it's possible that was built on ruins of Those who Came before- right? Not a bad hiding spot all in all.”

“I don't think now's the time to play tour guide. We need to be back out of here before dawn, and time is wasting.” Lucy shifted from foot to foot, and they spread out, Shaun and Rebecca quietly snarking back and forth. Ezio beckoned at Desmond and pointed, and he followed along, to unlock the hidden chamber. He almost fell from the ceiling when the vision appeared again. He ignored it, and after a moment, so did his ancestors. An adrenaline filled game of follow the leader later, the switches were pulled and a spike thrust itself up from the floor- covered in marking similar to those on the apple. As Desmond came down, Shaun investigated it, but couldn't find anything to activate it. But when Desmond touched the square on the top the world shifted and shook and they descended.

 

The floor settled, the church far above them, and he couldn't help but stare as it dropped away; they would have a hell of a time climbing out of this.

“Oh my god.” Shaun breathed. Standing behind Desmond were the faint, ghostly images of two men. Similar to the hologram they'd seen in Ezio's memories of the chamber, but more richly colored- well at least where they weren't wearing white assassin's robes. Ezio raised a hand in cheerful salute.

“ah Benne!” his voice echoed a touch, and it was faint, like he was at the other end of a cavern or the bottom of a well.“They can see us here.” He offered a hand in friendly greeting. Becca couldn't really feel it, but moved as if she could, eyes huge. She could almost feel the brush of stubble and lips against the back of her hand, though. Lucy just recoiled, and kept her eyes on Altaïr.

“Get on with it.” he jerked his head, scanning the room. Altair had only ever seen those who came before in visions; and they had unnerved him. He did not trust it. Ezio led the way, explaining that he had found this vault by accident and an inspiration in a dream one night, and when he decided to hide the apple, it simply felt right. They found the symbol of the tetranamagon again, and speaking the password- seventy two- made it slide open. But the inner vault made Ezio fall silent, since it had changed.

“Do you forget,” Shaun said, with vague amusement. “That it's been a while since you were here?”

“... almost.” the vision shrugged. The thin platforms rose like flowers. It was almost as if the vault wanted Desmond to reach the center- though the distracting, belittling voice of the hologram almost made him fall off a few times. It was disturbing somehow- they could see Altair, who had taken an astounding flying leap onto the ledge the hologram stood on and was trying to stab it, but they couldn't see the figure itself. Meanwhile, it only spoke and tracked Desmond, even as Altair tried to kill it, going through it like the others had gone through the Bleeding effect visons.

 

While Shaun prattled on about the symbols, Desmond wondered if he'd done it wrong, after all, from the memories usually when it was used someone was touching it, and things had come alive at his touch so much today. He picked it up.

 

The world slowed down to a crawl, except for him, his team practically frozen around him. He felt held- a ghost of what he remembered when Altair had fought Al Maulim. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see Altair and Ezio moving formal,y almost franticly, they could tell something was wrong. But he couldn't hear them- the woman's cold voice echoed in his ears, almost drowning out his own thoughts.

_Your DNA communes with the Apple. You have Activated it. You, birthed from our loins and the loins of our enemies, the end and the beginning, who we abhor and honor. The final journey commences. There is one who would accompany you through the gate. She lies not within our site. The cross darkens the horizon._

The force jerked him around, and he felt like a religious icon, one hand extended, hidden blade unsheathed, the other holding the apple in an upturned hand.

“Let me go.” he whined between lips that could barely move.

_The path must be opened. You cannot escape your part in this._

The force moved him like a child with a doll. One step at a time. Towards Lucy, who was unmoving and unaware.

_We must guide you._

Desmond fought against it as best he could, and then felt hands on his, slowing him down. Someone who was not effected by the Apple's hold.

_Cease your struggle._

“No.” Ezio's voice was like steel. “Let him go-” the Assassin’s hand was clamped over his hidden blade, and the other slid across to cover part of the Apple with his ghostly hand. “Altaïr!” His other Ancestor came and wrapped around him, covering more of the golden globe, fingers fitting into the grooves and pressing against Desmond's and Ezio's. Desmond could feel the pressure ease, but they still had to hold him back, a force was still trying to yank him towards another goal.

_We will not be stopped._

The will of three assassins against the force of the remnant of the one that came before.

_Do as I say._

“Nothing is true.” It echoed across three lips, focusing them. Nothing is true until they reached the decision themselves. The Creed encouraged them to think; to question. Not to follow blindly.

_You **will** do as I say._

“Everything is permitted.” as long as they accepted the consequence of their actions. The Creed allowed for errors in judgment. For being wrong. But thought and will were the core. Freedom to act. Or to not act.

The apple blazed in their hands. Ezio disappeared, and Desmond could drop his arm, the muscles screaming from the effort. Altaïr disappeared, and his blade retracted, and the apple dropped from his hand, bouncing along the platform, as Desmond screamed, and collapsed.

 

The world sped up.

 

“ _What's going on?”_

“ _What happened to Desmond?”_

“ _How did he-”_

“ _He's going into shock- we have to get out of here; grab the apple-”_

“ _I've got it”_

“ _Ah! Desmond, let go, it's me, Lucy. We have to get out of here, focus on my voice;”_

“ _They're gone.”_

“ _Desmond.”_

“ _They're gone, I've called and called, and they don't come. My head feels empty, and I'm alone.”_

“ _They were never really there!”_

“ _Are you worth it, Lucy? Tell me what she meant!”_

“ _What?”_

“ _Why did she call you the cross?”_

“ _Who?”_

“ _Why... are you red?”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of the road.  
> Game over.  
> Continue? >>>
> 
> I hate this. At this point, Bleeding Out had to follow events in the game, and it's so frustrating and dull to write that. I mean, chances are you know what happened in canon.  
> I can honestly say that when I started writing, I did not expect to end up here.

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to see if anyone would be interested in this; I'm enjoying it, but it's nice to share.


End file.
